


The Morning After the Morning After the End of the World

by Aegialia



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aegialia/pseuds/Aegialia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anathema moves on and figures herself out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After the Morning After the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sailorfukusweetbro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorfukusweetbro/gifts).



The morning after the morning after the end of the world, Anathema Device wakes up and realizes again that she can be anything she wants to be. This motivational thought, usually pressed on children by the age of five, is frankly terrifying to her and she ends up squatting on the kitchen floor, rocking back and forth a little bit as she tries to figure out what the hell she is going to do. 

Newt, who had gone out to buy something for breakfast (she didn’t have much in the fridge, as she’d thought it was going to be burned with brimstone a few days ago), found her there and did his awkward best to comfort her. He patted her on the shoulder and tried to embrace her. She had no idea what she was going to do with her life, but she did know that it wasn’t going to be that. 

“Please don’t,” she says, leaning away from him. 

“Oh. Sorry,” he says, sitting cross-legged next to her. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. 

She does not, not now and probably not ever, so she deflects the conversation to another difficult, but slightly less frightening one.

“I don’t want to be with you romantically,” she says, avoiding looking at him, as she’s certain he’s currently looking like a squashed frog.

“Can I ask why?” he says in a small, wet voice. 

“Well, for one thing, I’m pretty sure I’m gay. I never really thought about it much because of the whole prophecy thing, but I think I am. Also, I have a very forceful personality and I think I would end up walking over you and I don’t think you really want to be with me that much,” she says and glances up at him. 

Newt looks shaken but also (she hopes she isn’t imagining this) a little relieved. 

“Alright. What are you going to do now?” he asks, which is exactly what she was trying to avoid. She wonders if there’s anyway she could cause a little more drama, make him forget the question. Drama is not her strong suit. 

She shrugs. “I’ve got Jasmine Cottage for five more months, already paid for. I might as well stay,” she says. Beyond that is the screaming void of Adulthood Without A Guidebook. 

Some of her terror must show on her face, as Newt looks vaguely panicked, like he thinks she’s going to start crying, which is ridiculous, she hasn’t cried since she was very young. 

They eat an uncomfortable, silent breakfast, after which he begins gathering up his meager possessions. He gives her a number, in case she ever needs anything, and she gives him hers. He’s not a bad fellow, just awkward and a little desperate, and she currently has one friend in this town, given she wasn’t sure how the soldiers she used to go drinking with would feel about her storming the base, and she can probably use all the friends she can take. 

___

She ends up trying to call him two days later, bored and lonely. She suspects that Adam has been grounded and the cleaning lady isn’t due until Friday, so all of her human interaction has been frightening the postman by staring at him. It turns out that Newt hadn’t given her his actual number. Instead, it’s the talkative, colorful woman she vaguely remembers meeting during the Apocalypsenot, Madame Tracy. They end up talking for a couple of hours about life and the occult, though Anathema hates phone conversations and quickly realizes that the Madame knows about as much about the actual occult as parrots know about icebergs. 

By the end of the conversation, Anathema realizes she knows what she can do with her life, at least for a little while: be a witch. Well, technically, she’s going to keep the term occultist, but the same idea. Lower Tadfield is a sleepy little town, but she bets that in it there’s plenty of bored housewives and curious teenagers and children on dares with money to spend on meeting with someone who can read tarot cards and make charms. She doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to stick with it but, she realizes with a thrill of fear and excitement, she can eventually do something else if it doesn’t suit her. 

She ends up putting an ad in the Tadfield Register:  
Want to know your true love’s name?  
Need a little luck for your next meeting?  
Worried about what is coming?  
Anathema Device, certified occultist, has the answers to all that troubles you  
Available 8-6 all day except for Thursday at Jasmine Cottage

Madame Tracy had been kind enough to help her with the wording. Originally, she’d planned for “Occultist for hire. Jasmine Cottage,” to be the extent of the ad, but that apparently didn’t have enough “mystery.” She just hopes no one asks about the certified part. 

Over the next few weeks, a couple dozen people came with a range of complaints. She sold luck spells to both sides of a football game, told several women that yes, their husband was cheating, and read tarot cards for an at-first scornful, then frightened teenager. It wasn’t particularly riveting work, but it was easy. It wasn’t really magic, most of what she was doing, more nudging people to conclusions they already had assumed and bolstering what was already there. It wasn’t bad work, to be sure, and it was decent money. She is fairly happy, she realizes one Sunday. She is good at this and it makes other people happy. 

___

Adam Young comes back a few days later, glowing with excitement and dragging a tall woman with him. She looks a few years older than Anathema, a mess of blonde hair and polka dots on her shirt. Her aura seems inclined to be a bright, happy one, but a metaphysical wooly blanket has been thrown over her. She is tired and a little worn out, but she seems to come along with Adam willingly. 

Adam hugs Anathema quickly when she comes out to greet the two, seeming a little embarrassed but also happy to see her. 

“This is my sister, Abigail,” he says. 

The other woman offers her hand and a crooked smile.  
“Like he said, I’m Abigail. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Device, but I don’t think I need an occultist,” she says, looking at her brother.

“No, she does! You said in your ad that you read the future and Abigail is really worried about that right now.”

“I’m fine, Adam. Perfectly common post-university fears. I’m managing.”

Adam turns to her, clearly wanting to push the point. Anathema has no interest mediating a family feud so she raises her hands and says, “Friends and family discount. I’ll do a palm reading for you for free, you get to hear some of your future, Adam’s content, we all come out happy.”

Abigail rolls her eyes a little but she agrees to come inside. Adam runs off to play with Dog as his sister walks up the steps. 

Madame Tracy had tried to persuade Anathema to completely redecorate the cottage, which she had valiantly resisted. Her work space was the front room, practically identical to how it had been before she’d taken up this profession. The only changes were that she removed the drifts of rubbish, covered all the furniture in scarves, and kept the shades closed. The blonde woman looks around, looking a little surprised. 

“I was expecting more mystic décor,” she remarks, laughing. 

“Pointless. People come to have a problem fixed, not to watch a magic show.”

“You could probably get more customers with a little bit of mysticism.”

“They’d be boring customers,” Anathema says, gesturing for the other to sit down. 

“Why is Adam worried about you?” she asks.

“See, I knew this wasn’t legitimate. I tell you all my secrets, you spew them back at me with a bit of a spin, I walk away thinking you can really tell the future.”

“Just wondering.”

Abigail sighs. “Graduated, couldn’t find a job, went on a trip with my boyfriend, hated the trip, got dumped, still couldn’t find a job, came home and spent the time since mopping about, which apparently worries my little brother,” she says.

“Sounds like a lot.”

“No more than a lot of people my age. What about you? You get into witchcraft right out of university?”

“Never went.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t see the point,” Anathema says, smiling at her little inside joke. 

“Wish I’d had your foresight.”

“It’s not as fun as you’d think,” she says, pulling Abigail’s hand towards her. Her hand is soft and warm and apparently ticklish, as she laughs when Anathema trances the fate line. It’s a wonderful laugh and she realizes she’d like to hear it again, to hear it as often as possible. 

It’s not much, she thinks as she waves Abigail and Adam off, that she’s got right now. But she suspects it’s going to be enough to get by, enough to grow into something wonderful. 

___

Five years later, after Anathema and Abigail’s not-technically-a-wedding-because-that’s-not-legal-but-it-carries-the-same-emotional-weight-and-their-weird-druid-friend-presided-over-it-so-it’s-probably-binding-in-the-eyes-of-at-least-one-god, Anathema asks Adam if he’d been planning any of this when he introduced them. Looking as deeply cynical over love as only a 16-year-old can, he informs her that that would be ridiculous and left to go sulk in a corner because he’d only wanted them to be friends and now they’re both soppy and awful and everything is unfair.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Sara, I hope you enjoy this and have a good day!


End file.
